


Push/Pull

by Airmid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Female Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-09 13:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10413183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airmid/pseuds/Airmid
Summary: Sam was saved from hell but if Dean had been thinking instead of just damn grateful he would have realized that something so impossible would have come with a price.Namely, a price in the form of a pissed off archangel dropped into their lives.





	1. Dean - The Start

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely AU from the very end of Season Five on. Michael is in a female body in this just because it was different and it felt right for the course of this story.

* * *

 

 

“What is it you are so fond of telling me? Oh yes, fuck off.”

The door slammed behind her with frame shaking force, a rattling dirge echoing from the nearby window. Banging on the wall just as loud with a ‘ _keep it down’_ sounded a moment later. Sam was side eyeing him from the table while looking all tense and put upon; chin resting on one hand as free fingers tapped in fast staccato on the laptop case. Dean felt that look had to be a younger sibling from birth thing as his brother chewed his lip, eyes all scrunched and judgey.

Six months. It had been six months since Michael was ditched with them, complete with a sex change and all her rage and arrogance still quite firmly attached. Though she definitely wasn’t still singing her Daddy’s praises anymore, so there was that though Dean would argue it wasn’t a good shift. Or how Michael wouldn’t even look at God when he said bye to her before skating off to his vacation or where ever it was that divine dead beat dads go.

What he had gotten, however, was a miserable, pissed off, bound up archangel who hated everything. Each thing of human life seemed to offend her more than the last; dripping with disgust over eating and toilets and making sharp tongued remarks about living with primates. Wasn’t like she had bothered to endear herself those first few weeks; all sullen with each word formed like an invitation for some sort of physical altercation.

Sam cleared his throat and Dean shoved his hands into his jean pockets, trying not to look as irritated as he felt. Everything was irritating right now. Hell, in this craptastic joint he wasn’t sure if his bed came complete with a complementary side of mold yet.

“What?”

“Don’t you think you should, you know, go after her?”

His brother still had that peeved look, hair flopping around his face as he sat at the table that permanently listed due south. The place reeked of mildew, some sort of plumbing flood from a month ago that they were assured was getting fixed, completely one hundred percent safe. Knocked the rooms to half price which meant more whiskey money and just marginally better than sleeping in the car.

“No,” Dean answered because really, not everything was his damn fault.

“Dean,” his brother sighed, shifting his oversized bulk with that glower setting in further. “She’s a bound archangel. You know what heaven would –“

“Yeah, and what do you want me to do about that if it happens, Sam? Because it doesn’t matter if I’m with her or not if they come a knocking and I doubt we can all join hands and sing Onwards Christian Soldiers. Hell, I’d be willing to tie a ribbon on her and pay the airfare if they took care of her instead.”

“She was given to you.”

Dean kicked the bed leg nearest him because Sam always played that card. Always, because Sammy had dream eyes still when higher powers were involved. Well, he said screw the alcoholic, wormy prophet of the Lord who had turned out to be God. Who had the nerve to come to them after letting Cas be all exploded in his kitchen. Chuck, all false apologies and nerves, handing over Michael like he was her partner or some crap. Like he was some highly rated angelic babysitter for when Daddy couldn’t be bothered to fix His mess. It had been that moment that Sam had shown his true traitorousness by not letting him just shoot Chuck. Or God. Maybe Guck.

He stared up at the ceiling to contemplate, swearing that the seeping water stain was actually spreading in real time. Little brown fingers across the false suspended tiles and he was fairly certain that it was coating a new tiny pin prick hole every few seconds or so.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was harsher. “Man, you got to at least try. I mean she helps us.”

“She yells. Calls you ‘Lucifer’s vessel’ and me just _‘you’_ half the time. Don’t tell me you’re all wishy-washy over the king of the flying dickless brigade.”

“She hasn’t called me that for a while now,” Sam said quietly, going back to chewing his lip and Dean cursed under his breath. This was his answer. Sam had let his heart bleed all over everything again. “You don’t see –“

“I see her every day, Sammy. From the moment I wake up to when I go to sleep. She’s like a gnat you just can’t flatten.”

“You could try actually talking to her. Instead of treating her like something stuck to your shoe.”

“Oh that’s rich, Sam. Really?” Dean knew he was pushing seeing the tightness to his brother’s face, lines all worn in and etched in stark relief. “You want to tell me that you forgive her, huh? That it’s all okay and we can go host flower circles and take up tea drinking together?”

His brother ran a hand over his face then through all that hair making it stick out in so many crazy directions that he looked like a kindergarten’s art project on acid. There was a distinct look in those eyes that said Sam was very slowly and very carefully counting backwards from a very large number. Dean swallowed a bit of his anger. It wouldn’t help to have both of them pissed off and glaring, though at least Sammy had his own room. Something Dean sorely wanted to point out right now that he would appreciate, instead of always getting the angry woman cursing him out in bathrooms in her native babble. Not to mention the fear she might accidentally stab him during one of her nightmares as she still had issues with sleep and waking up.

Not like she talked about what that was all about either.

“You’re too much alike.”

“Oh dude, come on. That’s a low blow.”

“Would you just go keep an eye on her?” A huff of air, moving fine pieces of hair from Sam’s face and Dean felt strangely threatened. Like Sam was planning some sort of fight if he didn’t shag ass out to go get her.

Where the hell could she go? She had such short legs, wasn’t like she could get that far very fast. And that wasn’t even getting into just what he was supposed to do with her when he found her since he doubted very much she wanted to go any place with him. All civilians would see would be him trying to drag a smallish woman off and he abso-fucking-lutely didn’t need that kind of attention, thank you very much.

Another bitch face and Dean was out the door, half tempted to slam it just to piss the neighbors off more out of spite.

 

* * *

 

 

Turned out she didn’t go far because what she wanted was two hops down. The place was the epitome of seedy with the reek of beer and stale sweat; feet making a sticky squelch as he made his way in. Everything was dim, as if it wouldn’t seem so damning if things were only half lit and partially invisible. Outside of the obnoxious glare of the neon sign over the bar proper. Dean had half a mind to ask if the owner was stupid or if it was a brilliant business plan to induce vomiting from its ugly brightness to get people to buy more for now empty stomachs.

Two men were by her as she perched on a high stool, her feet not quite reaching the ground. She downed a shot, hitting the glass against the counter; sharp impatient crack summing her next round. Those two goons thinking she was going to get wasted, well, Dean had to chuckle. She may get herself wasted but she could kick their asses drop dead drunk and blind folded. He’d almost pay to see the alley fight, along with Michael on her knees sick afterwards.

There was a strange twinge of guilt over that last thought that he brushed away.

“Heya, buttercup,” he said, shoving his way past one of the men to take the stool beside her.

“Dean,” her voice was low as she didn’t even bother to look over. Eyes fixed straight ahead on the fractured light reflecting off all the glass. “I thought I made myself clear.”

“Yeah, well, you act like I have a choice.”

Something bitter sounding, a laugh half caught and twisted came out of her as she knocked back the next shot. “Sam guilted you, didn’t he?”

“Mike –“

“Shut up,” she hissed, grabbing his wrist.

He let himself be dragged off the stool and towards the back since it was better to not rile her up more when she got into one of these moods. Of course she picked a booth all the way in the back that even if the light had been working would still seem to suck all the shadows towards it. Releasing him by one side, she slide in raising a hand towards the wandering waiter this place somehow had for more drinks. He could leave, threaten her even but she would be unfazed. Dean knew why, wasn’t like he hadn’t been carrying around that same attitude for years as he sat himself across from her.

There was silence between them and he didn’t know what to say as she scratched her nails against the unfinished table top. It was a strange dichotomy that she seemed to like dresses covered in flowers and the color red when her eyes constantly seared angry and dark. Even on the day God dragged her on over she had looked full of resentment and hate as dear old Dad had promised them Adam’s safety and weren’t they grateful that He had recused Sam?

In the gloom he could still see the raised welt of her last injury working on healing, skin still discolored and ugly. It stood out against how delicate her hands were, vibrant blues and reds, a testament to her current condition.

Two shots arrived but to his surprise she didn’t just drown it down and took something like a more reasonable swallow. A good portion of him didn’t want to know how many she had had before now. He opened his mouth to say something to break this uncomfortable quiet before it dug in more but her eyes sharpened at once.

“Could you not?” she asked, voice still harsh. “I would rather not hear your lectures on proper etiquette and how terrible it is to ‘care’ for me.”

The air quotes where embedded right in there and Dean always wondered if Cas picked up that weird habit from this angel.

“It would help if you weren’t such an ass all the time. What the hell is eating you now?”

“I miss who I was.”

She looked taken back by her liquor loosened tongue, pushing a hand firm against the table as if to steady herself. Dean thought it might be one of the only truly honest things out of her mouth since she had been dumped with them.

“I know,” he said, because he wasn’t a complete bastard not liking the turn this had taken. Her well breed haughtiness was easy, this was unpredictable and he didn’t like that when it came to her.

Silence as she worked the nail of her thumb in and out of the scars on the table that the wood seemed almost to have been born with. She was stiff, shoulders just so that radiated upset, all shaky and strained.

Another swallow as she worked on her drink and he tried his, appreciating the thick warmth in his belly. Her hand was raised again, signaling for more and he wondered how buzzed she was right now. Despite being for all intents and purposes human she was still tougher on some things, still a little stronger as if all the bits of Michael couldn’t quite be tamped down completely and crept out a little from under those chains.

“Look, I get you don’t want to be here and the past few months haven’t been great,” he tried, seeing her stiffen even more. He wondered again what her Daddy had said to get this Michael instead of the aloof, devoted one. He doubted either of them was a fan of Guck, which he had decided on, or this terribly stupid plan. Along with whatever Guck had done to make her this bitter and nihilistic, well it probably hadn’t been an apology. Or a very good one at any rate.

“I despise Him sometimes,” her voice quiet as the waiter was leaving off the next round. She was still working her thumb along the table as he felt a shiver from those words somewhere deep.

Her face was hard but she wasn’t looking fully at him and Dean found himself staring because somehow in these shadows she was like an exotic danger. Some large predator of myth that people sought after to just touch in her blood red skirt and matching blouse and tan skin, eyes flashing some strange dark seduction in the dim light.

“He was always ‘Mikahel, look what I’ve made’. Expect me to be excited for it and I was until I knew better. Because whatever he made I would have to take care of.” Her eyes were on him in an instant as she leaned forward, a slight flush to her cheeks. “Do you know, Dean, what it is like to raise tens of thousands of little brothers who whine and beg and constantly do the equivalent of wiping their snotty noses on you?”

“Ah, can’t say I have,” he offered not sure where she was going because she never brought this crap up, ever.

Sam had tried once to ask her a question about creation. That had ended with a chair in pieces and her going missing for five hours. When she had gotten back she had told them both to shut up and locked herself in the bathroom before passing out on his bed. The one he had already been sleeping in.

He hadn’t been thrilled.

A slight nod, tipping her head to one side as her hair spread like black silk along her shoulder. “You know what it’s like to hold them though when they’re first created. All young and sweet smelling.”

Dean choked down a grin at the thought of going back and sniffing Sam. The creeped-out look alone would be well worth this.

“I guess, maybe. A bit weird. Just don’t go around snorting babies as a test.”

“Hmph,” the sound escaped her as she traded to the fresh drink on the table. There was a slight smile of hers, the one only for him before she grimaced. As though maybe not looking like a pissed off psycho for more than five seconds was literally painful to her.

Dean figured that given her family tree it probably was.

“Stop trying to pity me.”

“I’m not –“

She pointed a finger at him and it was almost like the shadows had gotten longer around them. “You do, both of you. I would appreciate it if you just stop.”

“O-kay,” he said, drawing out the word uncertain how to proceed. She was clearly feeling it, a slight unsteadiness to her hands now, a sway to her head but he knew the wrong thing out and the whole bar could be in shambles. Especially given she seemed to be itchin’ for a fight, though he couldn’t help to toss out a little fuel. “Could you maybe, I don’t know, not be such a bitch?”

Something like a smirk caught on her face as an eyebrow raised.

“There’s the Dean Winchester I know and loathe.”

“What the hell do you want, Mikey?” He spread his hands out on the table and looked at her, frustration rising. “I didn’t ask to be here either. You don’t talk, I don’t know what we’re supposed to be doing and if you just played along, gave Him whatever it is He wants –“

“It will not happen.” Her voice was curt, all amusement gone and her eyes shifted back over towards the lowlifes at the bar casting glances back at them now and then. There was an air to the two that was calculating, some low threat that wasn’t quite there yet.

Dean wondered if he should be ready with his weapon soon.

“What does He want?” Since really that was the best question that they never talked about. He had been thinking this was some kind of asinine penance for her but he probably needed to stop assuming shit as that often didn’t end well for him.

“It won’t happen, so it doesn’t matter.” She knocked back the little bit left in her glass before sliding out of the booth. “Come, I’d rather go back before Sam sends out a search and rescue.”

And that apparently was that. Dean tried not to fume as he finished off his own, adding a little bit extra to the money pile on the table before catching up to her.

 

* * *

 

 

Great big puppy eyes shining at them when they got back was not what he needed. Sam looking like that meant he had probably been sitting here stewing instead of putting his oversized brain in gear to see what they were hunting. Not that it would get him away from his current situation, not really, but it would reduce the time spent in a room that he was fairly certain could support a dazzling collection of new life forms from its smell alone.

“Dean,” Sam began, watching Michael sway a little, eyes bright and almost glassy next to him.

“Dude, just don’t. She was already deep into it when I got there.”

Sam scowled, which seemed to be a permanent feature to him now. His face went all crinkly in that endearing and just infuriating way of his that meant he was going to launch into some sanctimonious tirade when Michael mercifully cut him off.

“I am not a child. I am older than the universe,” her voice hard even with its thickness from the booze, her fingers curled tight at her sides. “Do not lecture me, Samuel Winchester.”

With that she was marching to the bathroom, door shutting somewhat politely as Sam leaned back in his chair. Sounds of water and Dean idly wondered if the shower or these walls had more water. There was no way he was touching them to find out, the rather always humid feeling was enough.

“Should I even ask?”

“Nope,” he said as he flopped down on his own bed, appreciating that it seemed dry. At least the top part. And really, that’s all he needed. He could feasibly avoid touching ninety-percent of the rest of the room if the bed was alright.

“Fine, then I’m going out. I don’t even want to stay next door to the two of you.”

“Sammy,” he tried only getting that look again as the keys to Baby were swept up in his brother’s giant fist.

“I may just sleep in the car. Or in a ditch. Or I don’t know, somewhere away from here until you two figure out your shit.”

“Fine, whatever bitch.”

Sam’s lip curled up in something that was pure frustration and a sign that his brother was just done. Dean tried to shift his eyes towards the TV, noticing the pizza box on the table finally and making a note to raid it when Sam stormed out. Because that was where this was heading, he didn’t need a road sign for that outcome.

“Do you two even talk or just drink to repress? Newsflash Dean, the Winchester way isn’t the greatest.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shook out his shoulders trying to get comfortable. There wasn’t a right word to say outside of promising something that he certainly wasn’t going to be doing. At least she was quiet in the bathroom and not swearing him out in that garbled mess she called words. For once she wasn’t overly upset at him, just at life in general, and that at least guaranteed a quieter, less confrontational night.

Another glare and his brother was gone, Baby starting up and Dean just did not have the energy to have multiple knockdown, drag out fights in the same night. Both of them being occupied, well that meant he could have Dean time now. Maybe push the remaining chunks of his sanity back together into some kind of functioning mass before they broke it again. There was even some whiskey in his bag and he kicked his feet up, pizza claimed and beside him, happily channel surfing.

After passing through a rather eclectic array of shows including one hawking exercise hula hoops with women in some questionable clothing he realized the shower was still running. A quick glance at the clock told him that, yep, it had long gone past the normal shower time.

“Mike?” he tried after knocking didn’t raise her.

The knob almost clammy turned in his hand as he pushed the door open to a face full of steam and the archangel not in his immediate sight. Some terrible strange fear that she had fallen or worse, had escaped till he realized there was no bathroom window in this joint.

“Get out.” Her voice was barely audible through the sounds of water, muffled further by the dingy shower curtain still stubbornly hanging by four rings alone.

He crept closer, resolute and feeling already out of his depth but he had to look to know she wasn’t bleeding out or something even more terrible. Like trying to conduct ancient spells or other such nonsense because he was still pretty sure she was tempted to try something outrageous if it got her out. Like her one plan of actually contemplating binding Death which Dean was certain would have gotten them all violently murdered.

“I said get out,” came the hiss like she knew what he was doing exactly and he sighed.

“Look, I just need to know you’re alright.”

“Despite what Father, or your brother for that matter, want you to think I am not your responsibility or something broken for you to fix. So do us both a favor and leave.”

“Not happening,” he said through gritted teeth and pushed the curtain back.

This, this wasn’t what he been expecting to see.

Knees drawn up to her chest, face buried against them sat Michael on the floor of the tub, drenched by the still falling water. She didn’t even bother to look up and he took in the long scars down her back, the ones telling of how she had become between him and a Lamia a few months ago. A slight pink color, probably made worse by the water, that should have been along his chest instead.

Images came unwanted, of how she had been draped across the back seat; he trying to keep the blood in her body as Sam drove like a maniac down dark roads. The house they had just set on fire some bright bloom of death in the night behind them. Michael seeming all too human, drifting in and out of consciousness under his hands. Fingers flexing useless against the seats as she tried to murmur how she wouldn’t die, not really, but it didn’t make the deep wounds better as blood pumped like hot soup against his palms.

He had fucked it up so badly that night. Hadn’t been focused, still all bent out of shape over –

 _Stop thinking_ , he told himself and reached out to check the water. At least this place had a decent water heater, probably brand new seeing their troubles as the water was close to lukewarm and not complete ice yet. Well, either that or not many wanted to hang out in the land version of Atlantis even if it was the only place in town.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he kneeled by the side of the tub, her body still.

No response and he reached out, moving some of her clumped hair back. Most of her features where hidden, just the corner of her eye and upper cheek were visible, the tension evident. Carefully, so very gently because she was so damn volatile, he brushed his thumb along the upper part of her cheek. Something about her, vulnerable and the sounds of her heavy breath turned familiar inside him.

“I’d like to get you out of here. Just that. Rather not have you sitting in here like this all night.”

To his surprise he got a nod, as much as she could manage with her head buried against her knees. Something close to acceptance about this whole screwed up situation and he pushed himself up.

The room without water running was suddenly too still, the steam as a lazy veil that pushed along the ceiling before trailing downwards. Everything seemed to ascribe to a dingy white except for the curtain that had streaks that attested to harsh chemicals and bad times. He handed over a rather scratchy towel that stank with bleach when he realized she hadn’t brought in clothes with her.

“Right back.”

The main room was stark and cold compared to the weird bright haze of heat in the bathroom; TV almost blaring even though he had left it low. Rummaging around in her bag he pulled out a shirt and soft pants that she liked to sleep in, of course with red in them which made him smile slightly.

When he got back to her he had half expected the door closed and locked, or her defensive but instead she was standing in the tub wiping off the dampness clinging to her skin. Full display and he turned, cleared his throat knowing that she would have known he had come back long before she’d acknowledge him. Wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this before, back when he had to cut off her clothes and pry her skin back together to try to keep her bodily fluids where they belonged. How she hadn’t made a sound as he stitched her up, didn’t move or complain. Just let him fix her, touch her.

 _Stop thinking_ , he told himself again as he helped her into her clothes not looking at her back. Her body was obviously still well into sloshed territory as she swayed. Something about the lighting in here made her almost haunting, like if dad had been a chick he would have looked close to this except with a tan.

Those not being particularly helpful thoughts, which he blamed on his own buzz, he kept himself busy toweling down her hair so it was just a bit wet before leading her back out. She stopped between the beds, her feet still fidgety under her. At least they already shared a room, he wouldn’t want to leave her alone if she was still this drunk a couple of hours later.

“Dean,” she said, staring up at him as he maneuvered her to sit on the bed.

Little hands grabbed his shirt, pulled him down. Fingers on his face, against his lips as she was inches away, her breath hot and whiskey soaked. For a moment he sank towards her, feeling something stir in him before he got a grip on reality.

“You’re pretty blasted.”

“Yes,” she agreed tiredly and Dean knew that had been the wrong thing to say. She swung her legs up on the bed, pulling at the sheets to get herself under them. “The TV doesn’t bother me.”

Feeling rather sheepish just standing by her bed like some creepy stalker or worse, like Cas, he went back to his own. Flipping through the channels idly, closed captioning coming on when he pressed mute. There had to be something relatively mind numbing to watch to keep him from glancing over, her back still firmly towards him.

The bottle beside him was getting steadily lighter before he was being woken up by Sam. His little brother in some kind of frenzy waving paper in his face with little black squiggles. He squinted and glanced over at the other bed, the haze of booze and just waking up clutching his head like a vice.

All her things were missing, even the sheets pulled back up and he finally registered what Sam was saying.

“She’s gone.”


	2. Sam - Two Weeks

* * *

 

Everything had that grey filtered haze of early morning when dawn was just hanging out of reach when Sam woke all cramped and wrong in the backseat. His blurry mind was skipping around trying to remember why he was sleeping in the car, face all pressed and lined by the vinyl when a pained sound floated through the air. Limbs were rather uncooperative, all tingling as he got himself into more of a sitting position, barely missing disturbing some books that Michael had left in the back half under the passenger side.

Dean was under his coat in the front, fingers flexing against the hem, eyes closed, face taunt as he muttered. Sam recognized the noise after a few more quiet repeats as a name and he sighed. Not like Dean was talking outside of complaints of her being a giant pain in his ass, or about the nightmares that seemed to be clawing in a bit further each day.

Years of practice guided his movements as he pushed the door open without sound. They were parked some dirt side road by a rural highway that seemed rather unpopular. Trees had begun cautiously budding, wary of winter’s lingering bite. Alone for miles and he felt confident that he could a piss without having someone drive by gawking like he was some twisted pervert behind a bush.

That being taken care of he went back to the car, stomach plaintive and body exhausted and just all around not in a good mood. Dean was still asleep, words more frequent now and Sam picked up something like _‘no please’_ followed by a jerk of his muscles. The way his brother had been when he found Michael all packed up and moved out, brooding to the point of muteness and Sam would have to have been hit over the head with stupid to not know that something had happened between them. Whatever it was, it obviously far worse than their normal fights. He wondered what God was thinking sticking the two of them together – two angry bulls in a small pen while spectators hoped nothing died.

Opening the front passenger door, he saw Dean’s hair sticking up at strange angles as he brothers form jumped at the impolite reminder of reality.

“Morning, sunshine,” Sam told him as those eyes squinted then winced at the intrusion of light. “Thought you might want to get going in a few.”

“Yeah, yeah, on it.”

Dean was already moving, hauling himself out to go take his own turn behind the stick bushes as Sam went to the trunk. He’d do anything for a shower and a bed complete with a  hot, ready breakfast before sleeping for about ten hours.

Seeing the deep circles and small twitch of muscles by his brother’s left eye informed him that wasn’t today’s menu.

Dean dragged him himself over to the trunk as Sam pulled out a shirt and a power bar. Best morning ever, he sourly told himself as Dean was rooting around in his own bag. They still had another fours and early this morning both of them were so bad that it probably would have been a joint effort in keeping the Impala somewhat on the road.

There had been a heavy thickness in the car when Sam had suggested that they pull over and try to rest their eyes for a couple of hours. Like Dean was challenging the laws of nature to even try to keep him from where they needed to be.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” he said sliding into the front again, stretched but still aching because his body never liked to fit anywhere well.

Air was cool here as the engine turned, Dean still having the habit to glance into the review mirror. As if there would magically be an archangel with her book, or magazine or whatever it was she had that day with her permanent frown as she glared back. Those little glances, the way his brother kept staring at his phone hoping for a call to at least say she was fine and go the hell away. Sam wanted to shake her till she got some sense because she should know Dean was a blood hound. That he wouldn’t stop unless she told him too.

Probably not even then, he thought as he saw the rigid line of his brother’s stooped shoulder like Dean was relying on the steering wheel to keep him up.

Yeah, he couldn’t take much more of this silent man pain and they both had to stay awake as he dragged out the box of tapes to rummage through. Till he found something he wasn’t expecting and held it up, eyebrow raised, waving the offending item in Dean’s general direction. A glance complete with nonchalance like it was common to find candy pop amidst Dean’s love of classic rock. Well, classic rock John had loved and nothing else.

“You kept it?” he finally asked when there didn’t seem to be an answer forthcoming.

“Wanted to find a way to give it back to her with style,” his brother blustered, shit eating grin despite the small flush on his face. “You know, repay that whole thing.”

Sam snorted. “Sure.”

“Not like you didn’t help her.”

“Dude, please, she knows how to work the internet. Sugar Sugar is famous.”

“Not something a man should ever have to listen to in his safe space,” Dean grumbled as he flexed his hands against the wheel, looking a little more relaxed despite his superficial air of peeved. “Lucky I didn’t cut her hair off.”

“Yeah, because that would have taught her,” Sam said, going back to sorting through the tapes to find something tolerable. He was fairly certain if his dreams had a soundtrack it was from this box. Plus , it hid his grin at the memory of his brother, face twisted up in a silent scream desperately trying to beat the blaring radio off; Michael leaning against the motel’s door with a knowing smirk.

What had caused her to specifically track down something to enrage Dean he didn’t want to know. There were days that he was surprised that the air didn’t just erupt in a sudden flashover when they shared the same space for more than an hour.

“Could have done it sideways, you know all diagonal,” came the huffy reply as Dean made scissor motions with his fingers. Finally, Sam found something that wouldn’t make him want to rip the tape apart in less than thirty seconds this morning as his brother ranted on, savoring his imaginary victory. “She’s so anal, would have driven her nuts.”

All he could do was shake his head and held back the comment that if he didn’t piss her off in the first place then maybe she wouldn’t plot against him. So, instead he pushed the tape in, listening to it click over, glancing at Dean. He seemed more focused and not quite so lost as he settled back.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Agents Ashcroft and Morrison, to see the sheriff,” Dean was saying as they showed off the badges and Sam hated how put together his brother managed to look. He even smelled good while Sam felt like he had been rolling around in a cesspool due to the lack of stopping anywhere with something larger than a sink.

It was a small department, probably only a handful of cops in a tiny town, the seat of sparsely populated county. A few desks, old and dented with name placards; an officer hunched over a copier sending them glances that didn’t exactly spell out friendly. A lazy fan stirred the air, limping along as if it too couldn’t be bothered to expend much effort. It definitely wasn’t moving the stale stiff feeling of the air all cooped up in here that felt thick and suffocating.

The officer on duty was a tall woman with her dark hair all done up in the back, severe in face and he knew that wasn’t helping his brother’s mindset any.

“Sure, one sec,” she said, getting up to go to one of the few rooms, knocking on the door.

Sam rolled his neck. A hobo wash in some non-descript place before the suits and he felt like a layer of grim. All that was going on now was a single minded determination from his brother that was a heat driving them forward. The only thing they had to show for it was dead end after dead end like Michael made it a game to make sure they could never track her down.

The sound of a door opening and Sam saw a middle aged man, plump a bit around middle step out and wave them over. At least he didn’t look hostile or suspicious. A bit worn but nothing that hinted of anything terrible or evil or wanting to eat them. Which was always a good way to start the morning off instead of being met with fangs and sharpened claws.

She motioned to them and Dean was already off towards the pair, face blank in a way that always worried Sam. It spoke that his brother was losing the ability to interact with normals slowly, by small fractions.

“Gentleman, nice to meet you. Sheriff Christian Paul,” the man said, extending his hand, a soft drawl evident in his voice. It was warm and dry as Sam shook, Dean following with his face in that blank yet strict expression that really didn’t suit it. “Come on in.”

Files were stacked all over the place, the only few places without at least a scattering of them were the chairs and a small space on the sheriff’s desk that Sam assumed was for writing more files to enhance existing piles. There was a window, looking out on the main drag. Through the partially open blinds he could see the red neon light of a diner, a beacon of mocking hope. There was a growl from his protesting stomach at the sight, the promise of things close to actual food and not compressed particle board smeared with chocolate.

“Here’s the picture, sheriff,” Dean was saying all charm but slightly stilted as he handed over his phone. “We’ve been looking for her for a while.”

A low whistle as the man took it in and Sam had wanted to ask why Dean even had a picture of her but he knew better. That was opening up a whole new chapter, especially with what was in that picture and he didn’t need more silent self-flagellation thank you very much. Though this, this looked promising as recognition was in that face as the sheriff handed the phone back.

“Yep, that matches Robin’s description right down to the scowl. Started a bar fight after she was accused of hustling by one of the regulars here. Put some hurt on them too.”

“Do you know where she went after that?”

“Probably out of town, best guess. She didn’t seem to be the type to stick around after mayhem.” The man leaned back a bit, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Why the Feds all interested in her?”

“We think she might be in danger,” Sam supplied when Dean failed to answer, a slight click to his brother’s jaw.

That earned a real, amused laugh.

“Son, let me tell you, I’d say she’s the dangerous one seeing she took on those odds and walked it off.”

“Anyone who might of seen her exit out of town?” Dean asked, shuffling his feet as he put the phone back in his pocket. Sam curled his fingers against his leg, trying not to look nervous as they rarely worked something this personal.

Something that could be screwed up in an instant.

“Them boys, well probably not. Robin though, she works early during the week normally. She’d probably be able to tell you more.”

“Did you not ask?” a rough edge to Dean’s voice, something bordering on anger and Sam refrained from kicking his brother. Couldn’t risk being seen in this open space but fortunately the man didn’t take any offense.

“Didn’t see no need to,” the sheriff shrugged. “Them boys always start stuff and this time they did it with someone who finished it for them. Despite accounts of her two wielding cues like swords, she didn’t hurt them much. And between you and me, with their rap sheets and how small she sounds it would be hard to get a judge to buy she took them on. If I had known she was sought after, would have gotten a bit more. But she was already gone by the time my boys got there.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said hurriedly before his brother could put something else out there. “Thanks. Where’s the bar at?”

“Down yonder,” a thumb was jerked to the right, “towards the edge of town. The Night Owl though its usually got people in the morning. All dry counties around us so we get a lot of commuters. No wisdom in those laws if you ask me.”

“Nope,” Dean said, standing and visibly anxious as Sam joined him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They were out of the office and walking back through the main room as Sam tried not to stare longingly at the donuts. That stupid fan still creaking as useless as Sam felt.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Oh yeah, that small angry thing. I don’t think I’ll forget her as long as I live,” the bartender said, handing the phone back over with a slight nod. “Came in knocking back a couple and got a few leers her way, though given how she looked not surprised.”

“Uh huh, and why’s that?”

Dean’s face was all brittle and close to fury but the woman’s eyes didn’t seem to take it in. She was almost half asleep, lids heavy with a few drowsy early morning customers slumped at the bar or mismatched tables. Some little dive with pieces of itself collected over decades Sam figured; replaced when one of the locals broke something with collections from local yard sales.

“She’s a looker, not dressed like the usual in here,” A shrug, small roll of her shoulders as her hands wiped down glasses. “At any rate it was still calm for a couple hours before one of the boys didn’t like losing his hard earned check to her. Less booze buying that way and called her out. Think they thought they were threatening.”

A smile, something amused and impressed now as she pushed blond strands out of her face. Sam glanced over, lights in that corner still had busted up shades and he wondered when they’d get new ones. Not that it mattered, evidence of a fight seemed to fit with their motif here and he thought the few missing chairs would be a higher priority. More seats for butts wanting to drink and all that.

“Do you know what happened to her when the cops were called?”

“Nah, sorry, can’t say that I do. Saw her going out the back to skip the trouble and that was the last I saw of her. Pretty busy night with it being a pay day plus traffic off the interstate.”

“Was she hurt?”

Sam glanced over at the strange softness of his brother’s question, worried like the little solider of heaven could be injured. Which was a far cry from his brother insisting that he hated her and wished she would just leave. Or that they were only looking for her because Dean didn’t want God all up in his face over losing His first born.

Of course, them being on the road trip from hell to track her down proved that.

“Busted lip, probably some bruises but nothing serious I could see. She was upset because they ripped her collar.”

Dean smirked with a nod. “Thanks ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The light outside was almost blinding as they pushed their way out of the little grim hole, door whooshing shut behind. Gravel scattered under their dress shoes as they walked in silence to the car, little puffs of loose dust clinging to their pant cuffs. Which really wasn’t what Sam needed because he felt dirty enough as it was.

“What do you want to do, Dean? I mean we can wait it out, see if there’s a regular – “

“Won’t matter,” his brother muttered, leaning his head against the driver’s side, before hitting his fist on the Impala’s roof. She sat like a dusty road worn jewel out here next to the low end at times rusty other offerings. Sam was fairly certain one of them hadn’t been driven in a decade given the state of the tires melding with weed infested asphalt. “She’s long gone, doubt we’d even get a viable direction.”

“Okay,” he said, leaning against the front grill. “So, why don’t we skip over a town and try to get some rest. Eat maybe, a shower. Right now we have no leads and it doesn’t do any good to just keep driving.”

“I don’t even get how she’s traveling. Daddy clipped her wings, she’s more useless that way than Clarance and I doubt she rings bells,” Dean muttered shaking his head. “How’d she even get here?”

“I wasn’t the one that taught her the art of boosting a car,” Sam replied pointedly.

“Well, didn’t think she’d use that against me. Jesus, it’s like she’s a ghost.”

He swallowed down the suggestion that maybe they needed to ask for help. It had been just over two weeks and now their last lead was dead. She could be another state over by now, keeping her distance especially after the scuffle here. Knowing it would attract their attention because her beating up a bunch of dudes was bound to turn a few heads. At least Bobby maybe could come up with something.

Well, after knocking them upside the head for not telling them who he was hosting under his roof while she was recovering.

How she could be that injured, obviously feeling everything that happened to that body. That if she had been truly human she probably would not have survived. How he had found his brother asleep, propped up against the head board in the same bed the next morning; passed out keeping watch over her. Michael’s back was a maze of bandages and small blood stains that hadn’t been cleaned off yet, asleep with her face pressed against Dean’s hip and –

There were not helpful memories and he tried to shove them away. It wasn’t like he didn’t think God didn’t already know. He wondered if eternal damnation was a thing for teaching the oldest of angels how to skirt the law and steal cars.

“Well look, we know she’s okay, she was through he recently,” he tried and got a small head shake, Dean all squinty eyed staring at the stretch of road laid out by them. “We need to regroup, start figuring out why she’s going the way she’s going instead of assuming she’s just running. It’s Michael, she’s probably got a plan.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dean said, opening his door and Sam felt a bit of relief. “Regroup and figure our own asses out so we can go get hers.”

Sam nodded, letting the smart ass remark to that stay in his mouth, not liking the wear that ate at his brother’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

 

At least he had gotten a shower, he thought morosely as he dragged himself the couple blocks back to their hotel. And at least this place had a library with a reference section because he had gotten a better handle on things. Well, maybe, he wasn’t sure but it made the most sense.

Passing by the Impala black sheen in front of their room, he got the door open and found Dean sitting hunched at the table, eyes all blurry staring at the laptop screen. The whole room had some strange harvest theme going on and he felt personally assaulted by the burgundy wall paper that was indiscriminately pelted with a row of wheat ‘growing’ half way up its walls. At least the accents of the room and comforters where done in a respectable off white.

Those eyes, all red rimmed as they took him in as he managed to get his large feet to not trip over themselves showed that Dean had not found his happy place.

“Dude, what happened to the nap?”

“Couldn’t,” came the response, skin pale as Dean’s free hand was spinning a half full plastic cup of whiskey on the table. “Find anything?”

“Yeah, actually,” he said dumping his notes on the table and himself in a free chair. He was ready for a drink and about a day’s worth of sleep. “She had been working a case about fifteen miles away. Some poltergeist thing from the looks of the articles.”

“You sure?”

“Called the locals. Said they had an angry, pretty agent there, all business asking question with the first name of Michelle. They don’t where she went but things calmed down.”

“So she did that, rolled into a bar, got into a fight and then skipped. Great, she’s Calamity Jane.”

“Dean,” Sam said, leaning over the table to get his brother’s attention. “The other solid lead we had, well it looks like there was a case around that area too. I think we’ve been going about this wrong, thinking she’s running. We need to look at what she’s doing while on the road because this might be more of a lead.”

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and Sam didn’t add that he had a sneaking suspicion that Michael may not think they would look for her. Or if they were, it was out of some sense of duty to God, not the whole ‘we want you to come back’. And yeah he if he was being honest he missed the bitchy sort-of still an archangel and the way she was.

That night when she stared at him all intense and way too close and said he wasn’t Lucifer’s poison.

“She’s ganking monsters because that’s the only thing she knows down here?”

“I think,” he said, trying for patience instead of violence over Dean’s obtuse brain, “that she knows about killing evil. We taught her how to hunt on human terms. Smush those together,” he said clapping his hands and appreciating Dean’s jump, “and we got what she’s doing.”

“Till she meets something that’s a bit meaner than most.”

A sour twist at Dean’s mouth and Sam already knows he’s thinking about the Lamia. Not matter how many times he tried to tell him that it was no one’s fault, that they had assumed it was a wolf. They hadn’t even expected to see it that night in that place. Even Michael had been surprised. Not that it helped when Dean blamed himself for her, all that blood, so much it seemed impossible she was conscious as she breathed half spaced out instructions.

Dean torn between trying to stem the slick of blood coming from her back and helping to ignite the bastard that did it.

Yep didn’t need those memories right now and Sam shoved them right back into their dark little corner of his brain.

“Alright, well you work on cases starting with close and going out and I’ll go take a quick shower.”

“Sure,” Sam said softly, knowing he should be pissed right off at being given the work again but Dean needed it. “We’ll find her.”

“Uh, huh.” His brother paused, looking all conflicted and constipated and Sam managed not to roll his eyes at that. Trying to say thanks for something emotions was not his brother’s strongest trait.

“She’s important to you. It’s okay.”

“Whatever.” Dean paused and then seemed to want to defend his manhood. “At least it’s quieter. Not to mention the constant stream of complaints like ‘Dean, I hate bladders’, or ‘Dean, why did you give me the flu’, or ‘Dean, you need to change the channel for I do not wish to watch this’.”

Sam put his hand up as though his was rubbing his nose to hide his smile as his brother was just getting warmed up.

“Or how she seems to like shed hair everywhere. I mean, I don’t think I’ve met a drain she doesn’t manage to leave a nasty clump of that stuff in, not to mention how it’s stuck to everything she’s near. Or mess with my stuff, always complains that her bed is worse or that I didn’t – Sam!”

“Sorry,” he protest in vain enjoying that bulging vein in his brother’s forehead. “It’s sweet, it really is,” he got out between snickers as Dean’s face turned to something trying to mimic the color of beets. “The way you love to hate each other is jus t-“

“Shut your cakehole, Sammy,” Dean muttered looking a cross between tired and beyond embarrassed, trying to find his footing in one of his trademark grins and failing. “Just – just do something useful while I go hose myself down.”

Then his brother was just a flash to the bathroom before he could think of a retort as it had been far too long since he had been able to tease Dean at all about this sort of thing. Sam turned the laptop to face him, seeing police reports still up on the screen. His brother had been searching for victims and perps with her description again and his stomach clenched.

Some part of him wished Dean was back to just complaining, like he had at the start when he yelled at her and demanded she just shut up and not say another damn thing. Blaming her silently, fuming right before the Lamia when he had screamed at her about if she was happy, if her Daddy was proud yet.

Sam swallowed, rubbing his temples as he heard the water running now. She had left that night too, gone out and hadn’t come back till well after dawn. Dean looking like he didn’t care if she never showed back up at all. Back then he had thought Dean just hadn’t seen her. How she was unable to look them in the eyes for months, the way she looked at his brother that wasn’t all fury and grief when Dean’s back was turned. All the ways it seemed like she was just going to shatter and fall to pieces to blow away out of the pain that was her.

Maybe he had though. Maybe he should have given Dean more credit. Because he knew, oh he knew by Dean’s behavior that he was being eaten up by guilt and he didn’t even know if Dean deserved it or not. Probably only half of it given those two.

The water was shutting off and Sam got himself to focus on the here and now. Searching the whole surrounding area and then spreading out to neighboring states and beyond – well it was going to be a long day.

At least this dump had a coffee maker.


	3. Michael - Five Weeks

* * *

 

 

Dirt and smears of blood were caught beneath her nails as the girl lay unconscious in the back. Her hands ached, skin cracked and dry in the high desert altitude even in the late night as she drove. Headlights just showing the black ribbon with one yellow strip and glimpses of brush scattered, desperately clinging to barren ground.

She understood now. Out here with that shuddering breathing that filled the car like a skipping she could not right. The oppressive thought that the noise would stop, fill everything with a terrible final silence as her hands tightened on the wheel. This was suffering, the rattle of struggle and survival and she wanted to correct it, to ease the pain so that this life could continue as she was meant to.

She understood now the fear in Dean’s voice as he pressed shirts against her, whispering everything was fine as Sam drove without speaking.

Damn her limited sense, she could not tell if it was a human or something worse that had done the damage. Decorated this small woman as an art project of punctures complete with torture. She didn’t know if anywhere was safe as she scanned ahead; looking for something, any building.

“Please,” came a gasp from the back and Michael turned her head to the review mirror to see her passenger. Eyes glinting, catching what little light the dials provided.

“I will get you help as soon as I find something,” she said, hoping to be reassuring but there was a head shake, vehement and final.

“He’ll come, find – “ her words cut off, a cough and a rasp filling in the gap and Michael knew what she wanted.

“I do not know if I have the supplies to help you.”

“Please.”

It was a terrible request, one Michael did not want to fulfill but right now she did not even know if there was a hospital within a hundred miles. That stuttering breathing was calmer as she nodded, those eyes closing as the girl tried to keep her blood within her body. Michael picked up her newest cell, hoping for assistance she was not sure could be had.

‘Ello.”

“Robert Singer? This is Michelle, if you remember me.”

A pause than a slight scoff, as though she had offended him.

“Sure I do. Can’t forget small, angry and suicidally stupid. What can I do ya for?”

Michael sucked in her breath, reminding herself this was how he talked. “I found a woman in the road severely injured and I am unsure if it was a human attack or something else. She is refusing to go to a hospital and I doubt there is one around here.”

“Where you at?”

“Southwestern Oregon, around Highway 95. I believe I saw a sign concerning Mount Stevens.”

Sounds of shifting fabric, wind noise that hinted the man was perhaps driving himself as she remembered this was a cell number.

“Lucky you – I’m just passing through Idaho Falls. Was going towards where you’re at. Assuming we’re after the same news report.”

“Yes, the missing hikers. I do not know if she is one or something else.”

“Alrighy,” a deep breath as the man though and Michael drove, hoping something would show up that she could at least drag the woman into and set up wards. Driving like this, out on an open lonely road was not protection. “Find a place, barn, shack don’t matter. Give me a holler about where. I have some kits on me for this kind of mess.”

“I understand,” she said taking the phone from her ear.

There was still that breathing, more even now, more controlled. She pushed the urge to start beating her hands of bone and mortality against the dash. Before all of this she could have healed with a touch. Cast the shadow of her wings upon this land to burn all evil from it. Now, oh now, she was nothing but a thin shell that was bound all through her. Something constructed of tissue and easily collapsed.

Pain that only reminded her of a lost brother, back when he had tried to lure her with words of love and false pleas of forgiveness for his crimes before slipping a blade into her side.

The headlights showed something in the distance, a building of some sort and she swallowed her hope that it was usable.

“A friend is nearby. I will do what I can for you until he arrives with more supplies.”

A slight sigh, something she chose to take as acceptance. Why had Father made his most loved creations so vulnerable?

It was a barn, old and weather worn as she turned into the dirt driveway barely worse than the road she had been on. The wood stood with its marks of time and the etching of the wind’s fingers. It would do for her current needs.

Cautiously, she got out, flashlight in hand. It was quiet, so unearthly still that it was consuming. Silence – another thing she was still yet unaccustomed to after eons of hearing the clamor of heaven in her essence. Now it was as though anything could be lying in wait and any noise would be her end. Well at least the end before her body repaired all the pain.

Her prison was eternal after all.

The building contained the air of abandonment long before now, which was agreeable as she pulled her phone back out.

 

* * *

 

 

 

There was no more blood leaking from the wounds, the woman who had managed to give her name as Mellissa. To her dismay, she would hazard they had been made by a sharp instrument and not claws. It did not rule out something akin to a demon but there were no other signs or smells of sulfur. All things led to a fully human assailant upon this innocent woman who was still in shock preventing her from grieving.

She had so little water on her, enough for them to drink but not enough to get the mats of blood out of her long dark hair. Carefully she removed the debris from what she assumed had been gathered when this woman crawled to the road. Fortunately, she had had a blanket, worn but warm to provide dignity since the child’s torn clothes failed to do that. One of her boots were missing and Michael feared that such a thing coupled with a probably blood trail would tell whatever had abused her as to where she had gone.

That it would begin a search for what was lost and knowing his face.

Michael had drawn the wards, salted all points of entry she could get to as those eyes followed her.

“Why?” the question was finally posed as Michael returned to her side to look over her wounds and hasty bandages.

“I do not know if what hurt you was human,” she said slowly, watching the reaction but there was only a nod, some sort of understanding. “Can you tell me what happened?”

A cough and Michael helped her take a sip of water, grateful that there was color in her face again visible in the small amount of light her flashlight gave. Thoughts of infections, what humans so easily get, and she had to ignore them. There was nothing else to be done in this moment over that.

“My boyfriend,” Mellissa managed, staring as she tried to focus, bandages on her face making it hard to open her mouth beyond a thin line. “He wanted a hike. There’s a lot of things out here to see and he said it was to be a surprise where we were going.”

The words were faint, Michael leaning in to listen as a hand wrapped itself around her wrist, pleading for something Michael did not understand.

“What happened on the hike?”

“Something, I don’t –“ there was panic and Michael tried to calm her in the way she had seen the brothers to. It seemed to work, lines calmed in the child’s face, eyes not so wide and worried as Michael ran her fingers through her hair. “I thought it was safe, that he was safe.” Another rattling sound that Michael disliked as those dark eyes stared up. “I prayed he would just kill me. Like Danny. I know he's dead.”

There was a frantic movement of her arms, as though if she could just get up it would cease to be the truth and she could retrieve him. Michael placed a hand softly on her chest, hoping to still her so she would not tear at the stitches.

“It is alright,” Michael said, hating that she could do so little. Was this Father’s lesson?

“My mom,” she whispered something forming in her eyes like tears. “When I was little, she would do that with my hair.”

“Get some rest, a friend is coming soon,” Michael told her, continuing the motion feeling the strain leave the woman as she worked out the mess clutching at the strands of hair. This child who had suffered and yet none had listened to her cries.

Another nod and the girl closed her eyes and Michael tried not to think of the pain she was in. She hoped Singer would have something at least for that, if not more appropriate bandages. Or directions to a hospital which would be ideal.

There was the question of how the girl escaped and dread was settling that she could be infected. If it was a creature and not a human there was always the possibility of blood or salvia contamination. Which would most likely mean she was saving this child to merely kill her later.

Another spark of anger that Father had allowed something as corrupt as Eve to continue. To be forbidden from driving her sword through that abomination made the seals on her heavier. Even if then such action would have been on principle and not love for these creatures.

Mellissa’s breathing was deeper, more even signifying something close to sleep and Michael moved to lean against a splintered wall looking up. Part of the roof had collapsed long ago and she took in the sky. It was radiant out here, one positive were the stars crowding together. Gazing up she wondered what her brothers were doing. If there was one that mourned for her and not the weapon she was. A simple desire to call out to Castiel who she had been told was once again reformed. That perhaps he would understand if not forgive.

She closed her eyes for a few minutes to rest, listening for anything. Her hand was over her weapon, waiting and knowing that her want had been foolish.

In the end she would always lose, even if she won.

 

* * *

 

 

 

A slight brightness was in the sky as dawn pushed upwards when a truck arrived, parking next to her stolen car of the week. Singer was getting out and she felt grateful as she stood in the doorway, a large bag with him as he came near. He looked like his normal disheveled self, his ever present trucker hat slightly askew on his head, flannel and jeans and boots that looked as though they had seen at least two days of continuous wear. His hand wiping at his auburn beard tinged with gray when watery eyes weary of driving stared at her, wrinkles in his face deep as a testament to his exhaustion.

“How is she?”

“Stable.”

A glance towards her and then Singer was inside passing through the wards. His eyes fell to a couple that she knew were foreign to him, ones of angels and ancient language and there would be questions later. She saw it in the way he took them in and steeled herself since he did not know and she would rather that continued.

“Mellissa?” Michael roused her, the child’s eyes panicked then pain filled as she focused on them. “My friend has arrived and would like to help you.”

“Betcha that hurts like a son of a bitch,” Singer said, taking in the stab wounds as clinically as possible. “I have something to take the edge off a bit.”

“Please.” Something desperate there and Michael cursed herself for not having this.

Singer produced white pills, small in his palm. Michael helped her sit up a bit to be able to take in a sip of water to push them down, her body shuddering at the effort.

“Well balls, this is a fine mess. Let me wrap you up, got the good stuff.”

Mellissa seemed agreeable and suddenly Michael wanted to be outside. Excusing herself she went and stood on the other side of the door, in the open air by their vehicles and the just blooming dawn stretching her colored veil across the horizon. Now the air felt peaceful, that still tension that had held in the late night hours dissipated.

Blood was dried on her shirt, the cuffs deep in crimson now, flaring as a flag in the growing light. She pulled her bag open, withdrawing a shirt as smooth almost forgotten fabric deep in the bag’s recesses brushed against her seeking hands. It would do no good to even acknowledge the existence of such a gift as she busied her fingers on the buttons. Clean cloth did little to relieve her feelings of dirt etched in. That hidden fabric, a promise now lost, perhaps never fully born and she shoved her bag away a little on the front seat.

Such a thing given to her when she had bled and the way Sam had looked at her. As if he understood the winding guilt. Words and desires trapped beneath a shifting cloak of unspent fury that flowed to blindness until almost all was lost.

Perhaps, if she had seen it sooner she would have believed her once cherished brother could have known remorse. Now, there was little but pity and a beloved who regarded her with distrust and scorn even if his hands were kind. Hands that had murdered and tortured and dragged the worthy to salvation that pressed in ways to heal her. Eyes distant and suffering when there was so little to be done.

Once she could have raised her hand and made the universe kneel to grant them salvation, lift them from the path she had stubbornly believed was destiny.

Little would be accomplished like this and she slammed the door, sealing away that last threat of hope. She was the eternal solider, she would endure as Father told her. She would always love Him enough for that.

“Well, it’s a bit less iffy,” Singer said as she managed not to jump at his voice beside her. Dawn had broken completely through the night, the sky much brighter as the desert stretch out around them. “They look like stab wounds, makes me think more of a human sort of thing.”

She nodded, since that affirmed her own suspicions. “Did she tell you anything else?”

“Not a lot,” the old man scoffed, kicking his boot in the dirt. “Said she had something sprayed in her face, her boy making a gurgling noise when she couldn’t see. Bastard told her he would always find her. She’s terrified. Pretty sure her boy toy is dead out there. Whoever it was wanted her.”

“If it is human –“

“We don’t do human,” Singer cut in taking her in. “This is a police case. We need a hospital to dump her at but it’s going to be a drive.

“Take her.”

Silence fell heavy between them and she knew she was being studied, those eyes narrowing and accusing.

“And you? I don’t see you moseying along to take in all this scenic glory.”

“Someone needs to put a stop to this.”

“So bleeding out in the back of that boy’s car and being bed ridden for two weeks at my place didn’t get it through your thick skull?” The words were hot, demanding and there was fear there knowing he could not stop her.

“It is human. It is not like the last time when we did not realize that the creature was still there or that it was something that one would not expect,” she paused glancing over at the still accusing stare. “I will be prepared.”

“You ain’t doing it alone.”

“She needs a hospital and right now he does not know if she made it out alive. When the news breaks he will most likely change hunting grounds or vanish entirely. Now is the only time.”

A grunt, something like acquiescence since she was right. They had this tiny window where the monster of human origin would be looking for her, not sure if she escaped fully. Michael doubted that whoever it was behind this would stay once the story was in the papers. And given how desolate things were she bet it would take up the whole front page.

“I should get my things,” she said finally to break the quiet and the old man made another noise that sounded like unvoiced frustration.

“What are those other wards? Never seen them but I know they’re angel speak.”

“Something very old,” she said cautious as to what was slipped out. “They keep out things that the others don’t. Feel free to copy them if you wish.”

Brushing past him, she gathered her things, whispering to Mellissa that she would eradicate the problem and that she was being taken somewhere safe for help. Real help in a real setting that would tend to the fragile flesh of humans. A small hand grabbed her arm, surprisingly tight, alarm in those eyes as Michael tried to separate herself without force.

“I will be alright. This is what I do. I have no fear of him or the pain he is wishing to inflict. He will know it in the end, though.”

The terror was still there when her arm was released. Michael with her bag in hand passed Singer at the door, the man rubbing his beard trying to think of a better solution and coming up empty.

“Don’t like it,” he offered as she walked by and she turned, hair falling into her face.

“Whether or not you do, it is what is happening.”

He didn’t say another word as she got into her car, the engine thankfully turning over in its ancient housing as she backed up to go the way she had come. To where she had found a bleeding woman collapsed in the road.

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was still fairly early when she arrived in the area that she had found the woman. Driving a short ways further she found what she was looking for, what her boyfriend, who most likely was now adding to the ecosystem, had wanted to show Mellissa. A dusty sign telling of a hiking trail, a small pull off. There was one car there, empty and she presumed it belonged to the two humans who were attacked.

Air was cool on her skin as she got out, eyes taking in something other than thirsty dust. The area was not as barren as she had believed last night. There were wild flowers celebrating spring before the heat of summer, blankets of yellow and lavender blooming against the wide expanse of brown. A greener form of scrub entwined with the flowers in this vastness. A few trees here and there, Junipers raising their branches up to plead for rain in their perpetual shadow of the snow topped mountain in the distance.

Grabbing a small bag and ensuring her weapons were within easy access she began walking. There were few places to hide here and more than likely whatever was here had posed as someone lost, a fellow tourist out to see these places. A deep pain was in her, memories of how these places formed, pushed and moved and carved. Sharp plates that ground together, massive forms of ice that moved across the planet that created its own masterpieces to go with what was commanded of heaven to shape.

There was an almost unreadable sign proclaiming that this was a trail leading to a hot spring, common in these volcanic rich areas. This time of year still had cold mornings though if she was correct she was at the northern edge of a desert whose temperatures would rise swiftly.

No one else seemed to be about and the path was little worn, some forgotten wonder drifting at the edges of nothing. It was not until she heard the sounds of water moving not far ahead, mirrors of the springs reflecting the fading pinks of dawn against rust toned banks that she saw it. A shadow shifting around, far yet not far enough away from her. Someone else was here, someone who appeared to be looking for something.

A scrub bush made her pause, a splash of color that was not natural.

The figure was a man, slight build and taller than her though most were barring young children. As he drew closer, some strange form of cautiousness to his steps, she could see the wild hair, a tear in his khaki shirt sleeve. Those eyes, there was something wrong with those eyes that were taking her in, looking her over as he came closer. The guess that he would be looking for his prey in this lonely plain had been correct. More than likely he had thought her severely wounded and perhaps had waited until light to not arouse more suspicion. Or perhaps just for better search conditions for even with a light it would be difficult to find anything out here once night consumed the sky.

Her small form proclaimed she would be easy to dispose of so that his face would not be known.

So instead she took in the hot springs, a small area that radiated heat that she found herself grateful for. Her coat was back in the car and her skin was sweat slicked from the walk and cooling rapidly. She did not regret leaving the coat however; she did not wish to be restricted in this encounter and he was now about ten feet away, his drifting steps stopping.

“Morning,” he greeted, something strained in his voice.

_I thought it was safe, that he was safe._

There was a symbol on his arm. A badge trimmed with a yellow gold color showing a forest and she knew how he had gotten so close without discomfort.

Michael nodded, making herself oblivious to the dark patterns on the parched earth that did not blend well with their surroundings.

“Didn’t expect to see anyone out here, ‘specially this early,” he continued, determined to have a conversation. She looked fully at him, now only eight feet separating them. “I was hoping you were someone else.”

“Is someone missing?” She kept her tone even, curious and was rewarded with a rolling of his shoulders.

“I think so. A young woman. Friends said she was coming out here but never got home.” A smile with those words, something so cold that it drove a warning swiftly into her true being. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”

“I have not,” she responded, shifting her weight to purposefully have her back more squarely towards him, the container in her palm concealed in her fingers. “Though I would assume you have given the blood.”

No sound but she was sure she felt his breath, hot and rancid long before his arm raised to swing something towards her head. A hand was out, she had his wrist and in a sharp movement she sprayed his eyes with pepper gel, hearing him squeal and swear.

“Bitch,” he spat out, hand loosening for a moment as she grabbed the hammer and brought it down with a swift crack against his back. “Fucking cunt.”

On his knees now winded and moaning, clawing at his eyes that were swollen shut as she brought the hammer down again, this time the splintered sound of bone as it contended with something less firm. Then once more, the satisfying sound of his leg breaking as his wail swept out across the parched earth. She had no longing for a chase, to revel in his agony. His voice now a whine against the ground, unable to grasp that she had crippled him, that his work was over.

A sharp cry as she had him face down in the dirt, hands behind him as his arms jerked, wanting to go back to his eyes. Her rope was freed from her bag and she had him tied, muscles tense against the restraints. Sharp little staccato pitches echoed from him in the air around them as he managed to maintain conscious through the pain her actions put upon him. .

“I will not let you die out here if you answer my questions.”

He spat into the dirt and she sighed, drawing a silver knife. She cut through his shirt into his arm. Nothing but pain, no sign of anything that was not human. Grabbing a fistful of hair she snapped his head back and poured holy water into his eyes.

“Human,” and something sank in her with her pronouncement.

“Crazy fucking cunt.”

“Says the man who tries to assault women with hammers.” She stood, stepping away from his form as his swollen eyes tried to take her in. “As I said, answer my questions and I will not leave you here as bait for the scavengers. Where is the boy?”

“What boy?”

“The one from yesterday, the one with the girl you stabbed that somehow got away from you.”

Lips curled and twisted into something of a snarl, some strange type of contentment as the answer of dead was given without a word.

“So sorry sweetheart. You can join him though over there.” Fingers pointed towards the largest of the springs and she knew his body was trapped in there, waiting to be freed and laid to rest.

“If only you could kill me,” she said quietly, watching him as he worked against the knots. ”You lack that capacity. Most do.”

“You’ll bleed. Nice and slow and I’ll enjoy watching it.”

That mouth was still all pulled up, a fury that reminded her of Morning Star before she cast him to the Cage. Her little brother had stared at her with the same hate, that same accusing look that she had lost and had yet to realize it. She did now, she knew she had always walked this path and that it ended in her solitude no matter who carved the wounds.

Producing a knife she went down on one knee beside his head, letting the blade flash in the young light of morning. His eyes followed its movements before she moved and buried it into his right shoulder. Another scream, a string of words so distorted with anguish that they blended into intelligibility as she turned it clockwise sheathed in his flesh. His eyes rolled back, showing white but he did not achieve the mercy of unconsciousness.

“Why?” She stopped the movement, that panting breath as he tried to squirm away from her. “Why kill them? I do not understand the need for violence when duty is not involved.”

Some harsh sound, it was a moment before she understood it to be laughter. “Duty? What the hell are you on?”

“You are lucky,” she whispered leaning down to his ear. “If you had met one of my brothers they would not even speak to you, and the pain they would offer you would be beyond your understanding before the destruction of you damned soul.”

She twisted the blade all the way around in one swift movement, feeling the serrated edge tear more at the tissue as he let out another wounded scream.

“Your kind have so many things, so many possibilities,” she murmured staring at him. “Things I never had. Yet you chose this. Why?”

“Whores should die.” His teeth were bloody the next time he grinned up at her and she wondered if he had bit his tongue. “Especially ones like you.”

She simply smiled at him as she tore her blade free before ripping open the rest of his shirt. Slipping a small dagger from her boot she carved a message on him, one that if he had any intelligence he would wonder about till solved. One that would mark him for all those who had eyes to see.

“I have lost everything I have ever loved,” she told him as she worked, that smirk sliding from his face as she placed the marks. “Some was betrayal against me, one I almost destroyed before I realized what was being given, too late for reconciliation. Truly I wish you could kill me but now there are only two available to achieve such a thing. Neither of them will grant me such mercy.”

A part of her longed to draw her pistol and simply shoot him here but she had made her oath upon her Father’s throne long ago. If he survived what was to come she could not crush a soul still viable for salvation. A promise she had once skirted; rationalized breaking for the greater good, for the viability of what she had once called destiny.

She felt soiled past the blood and dust that was covering her hand and clothes.

Taking her blade still tipped with his blood she carved ancient words along hard ground; ones that had long been lost to most of the choir. Those that had not been used since they had so long ago lost their way and turned their faces from creation. She had not passed judgement upon a soul since Lucifer’s fall.

"I was commanded to love you all."

She drove her blade through the sign made beside him, feeling a brief moment of freedom from her binds; that flare of grace still whole rush out as wind howled around them. Puffy eyes bulged up at her, sudden fear replacing his idle threats and curses.

“This is your only warning,” she intoned, her voice ringing out far beyond her human limitations. “Confess and cry penance to those you have harmed. Otherwise you will know the torment my brother created for your kind.”

Chains swelled up and pulled her essence back in as the wind stilled. Slipping her blade free she put it back in her boot, rising as he was still at her feet. His body was lax, the only signs of life where uneven breaths and blinks as all struggle to escape had stopped. She doubted he would take this opportunity to save his soul. Perhaps Morning Star had been correct in his assessment, at least for some of these beings. Those like this were truly cockroaches at her feet despite her current condition.

Thoughts of Mellissa clinging to her life, soul powerful through her grief and flesh, pure in her fiery rage.

“What the fuck are you?”

She picked up her bag, glancing at him.  “Nothing.”

Feet raised small clouds of dust as she walked back down the trail, her mind on the death cries of her brothers, grace extinguished as it coated her hands. The memories of the cries of the Righteous Man from hell as she had idly turned away. The whimpers of humanity in murmured prayers long ignored.

She wished she could scatter herself, remains melding with this vast landscape and bask under the blanket of stars and the purity of the sun as she returned to her car.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sleep was a demand her body was becoming more vocal for as she drove south towards California and perhaps a hotel instead of having to use her car as a bed. Not that she liked sleep but it had been easier knowing Dean was near her, a step away. Now alone she found it more difficult, her dreams a clutter of nightmares of events that where long past or illusions of her fears melding together.

Images of Dean or even Sam being tortured when she could do nothing to protect them haunted her as much as the cries of her brothers dying in heaven’s fields due to Lucifer’s treachery. Those where common, expected and accepted.

No, it was the other dreams, the ones she had where Dean was against her – hot, dry skin pressed and encompassing, words spoken that the boy would never say. That wounded soul that half wished for destruction and maintained due to its remorse for the sins that stained it. To feel that soul resting in her light, scars laced with her grace finally as they sought union.

Those were the ones that taunted her waking hours that she dreaded when she laid her head upon stale pillows and rough sheets. A mocking testimony to how far her failures had truly gone.

Not that the sudden ringing of her phone did anything for her current state of mind.

“Well, can’t say I approve but they got the bastard. Thought you should know,” Singer clipped out without even so much as a hello.

She hummed a small noise of assent, something wild in her quieted a bit at the news her tip was followed.

“Says some crazy woman attacked him,” the man continued as she shifted the phone, seeing the sign for the state border. It was all so empty and she longed to stop thinking. “But the girl identified his picture and they found his weapons. Blood testing of that and the clothes, plus the eventual body of the boy should be good to go. You gave them a gift wrapped son of a bitch with a ribbon on top.”

“Good,” she replied, some part of her knowing there was going to be more to this call.

“Found a hospital finally. She’s doing good. Banged up but healable.” A pause, something hanging between them as she waited, not wanting to encourage him.

“Thank you for your help,” she said, wanting to fill the silence that made her uncomfortable. Humans and their ways, the unspoken expectations for things she believed she would never pick up on.

A scoff, something hard under it. “Don’t suppose you’d spill on why the boys were all interested in my seeing you?”

She barely kept in the response of wanting to know when he spoke to them. “They believe they have a duty to me. They are mistaken.”

The border was close and she could pick another highway, get out of this godforsaken area and get lost again in the rambling miles that made up this country alone. Small things, these humans, they could lose themselves so easily if they had no attachments.

“And why would that be?”

“Why do you think? As though I wasn’t bleeding out in their car after saving Dean’s life,” she spat out, hating her anger and herself a little more.

“Damnedest thing,” Singer said, his voice uninviting in its tone and Michael wondered where this conversation had gone. “That fool they picked up claimed that he saw a woman with glowing eyes and something like shadows of wings.

“Is that so? He is mentally ill.”

“What if I said you shouldn’t have been living when them boys brought you to me? If you ain’t exactly human,” Singer said slowly, drawing out the words and Michael knew that he had considering this for a while. It was hardly surprising, the man had seen what had happened to fallen angels through Castiel’s struggles. Albeit she was different, unable to die or be free. “What if I said I’m sure you’ve got wings?”

She laughed, something that edged on hysterical because it wasn’t unexpected. Singer was no fool, despite his love of drink that dulled him. If he gave that up she doubted much would stop his mind outside of his aging body.

“So how many shots have you had today?”

“Weird speech patterns,” Singer went on, his voice low with a trace of something unhappy in it. “Living through something like that, like you did. I know you aint’ Cas but you’re like him. You are, aint’cha?”

“Goodbye, Singer,” she said, tossing the phone out of her partially open window. The scream of the wind almost hide the sound of it hitting and disintegrating against the pavement as she drove on. There were other choices up here on where to go. Of how she could proceed and be away from this place; back to where monsters were what she was after instead of humans with damaged minds.

The mention of Dean, the loss of him rippled through her. Of what they could have been with that strange sensation of yearning to go to him. To find and phone and tell him where she was.

“Foolish,” she scolded herself deciding to go towards Nevada. She was no more important to that boy than the passing victims they scrapped together. Something to endure and maybe fix. A burden to watch that he had no say over.

All the things she wanted she pushed aside, hoping for a better day where she would eventually know what rest was.

As she joined the freeway traffic on a main interstate, signs of life returned to the landscape and she swore she saw an Impala, gleaming black and road worn roaring up the highway she had just left behind.


	4. Dean - Seven Weeks

* * *

 

 

Seven weeks. Seven damn weeks as he hit the base of his hand against the steering wheel. Sam glanced over, face still all pinched up as the stress kept coming. Last lead was another bust with the grim information that she had been bleeding last anyone saw her there.

That near miss in Oregon, that feeling that maybe they had gotten closer to cornering her all puffed up in smoke as she melted into the horizon. If only they had told Bobby sooner instead of just being a chance phone call. If only they hadn’t been a couple of states away. Then Bobby, after of course his ranting about how they were all idjits, told them about the number she had pulled. Wonky symbols in some creep’s back, stab wounds, broken bones, leaving the guy half dead in the desert. Some babble about the perv seeing wings and glowly angel bits.

He didn’t even know she could still do that, wouldn’t admit to being disturbed by whatever the hell she had done.

Sun harsh against the black of the road as they rolled through meadow land. A rest area was promised and he took it – needing to just get out, to breathe in something that wasn’t Baby or Sam stank. He was out, trying not to look as desperate as he felt. The more the days passed, the more screwed they seemed to be.

Disquieting thoughts that he may have to stop actively trying to hunt her down or he could lose Sammy too.

“Dude.” Sam’s voice was hesitant as Dean laced his fingers against the back of his head, staring up into the sky as the late afternoon sun heated his skin to just under scalding. “Dean, man, we’ll think of a way.”

“How, Sam?”

Listless he kicked the rear tire, debating if he had to take a piss or not.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t paid attention apparently. Something he should have been more keen on when she took to hustling like a second skin. The things she left were the things that could be traced – phones, stolen cards. A little note in his wallet and in their emergency cash fund that they had on hand that had read simply, _‘I apologize for the theft’._

Who the hell says that?

“I think we should try another locating spell,” Sam was saying closer now and Dean jammed his hands into his front pockets to keep them still. “Maybe make it more angel centric.”

“Yeah.”

There were only two other cars out here, much further down from them and he contemplated calling in help. Good old Guck hadn’t said not to, hadn’t stated implicitly that they couldn’t tell anyone. Just that they were the only ones that knew where she was, that she had been sprung. Dean would bet she was all marked up with sigils, a chance that she had carved in even more and he shuddered, kicking the tire again.

A family down the ways with two laughing children were using one of the old beat up tables for a quick lunch. Something fond, remembering how him and Sam and dad had done just that years ago before Sammy knew all about things that roamed in the dark.

“Gonna take a leak.”

Sam nodded, his face still worried and mouth tight as he rummaged in the trunk for something.

It was almost dark due to his eyes adjusting to the limited light of the bathroom. Some genius of this county appeared to have gone with natural light during the day despite facing the windows to the north. Mark one up for safety, Dean thought as he got his bladder under control.

He should be going back out to Sam but he couldn’t as he pulled her note from his wallet. Folds all worn and becoming delicate as he stared at it all over again. The script was almost as fragile looking, like Mike had tried to remember how to write in English at all.

_The damage that I have done to you will never be repaired between us. Try not to get eaten. Michael_

Followed by those funny little shapes of their language. Dean tried to push back the bubbling, hysterical protestation that beings of celestial light didn’t need no written language. They hadn’t found a translation yet. Sometimes he found Sam up with some old book, stooped over in a dinky chair at two in the morning trying to find an answer with eyes half closed. Like figuring that out would solve the immediate crisis.

It was a terrible goodbye note he decided for the hundredth time.

Sam was leaning up against the car, idly eating some bag of chips he had gotten from one of the overpriced machines here. The ones they kept behind iron bars in case people got incensed in the middle of the night over munchies not being dispensed correctly. Or overly pushing getting cash needed for said munchies.

“So?” Sam asked, glancing over as he trotted back out.

“Got nothing. Probably time to page the cavalry.”

“Cas?” his brother asked and Dean nodded. “Think that’s okay?”

“Dunno. What I do know is that we can just be vague. Like real vague cause right now all we got is chasing our tail across three states.”

A beat of silence and Dean knew what else his brother was thinking. A terrible thought and Dean wanted to trust their friend to not do something if he found out exactly who it was they were trailing. All the more reason really to keep from saying her name at all.

“Do it,” Sam said finally and then smirked as Dean pulled his face into something he doubted was flattering. “You know he shows up for you.”

“Fine.” Dean sighed, pressing his hands together as though that helped with the whole praying shindig that he still wasn’t comfortable with. “Cas, who art fluttering around somewhere we really need help. Like, it’s a borderline emergency –“

“It is an emergency,” Sam growled, whatever patience his brother had had almost leeched away.

“Fine, Cas, it is an emergency,” Dean amended, not looking over. “We need some guidance. Amen.”

A flutter and there stood the holy tax accountant, complete with crooked tie and molested hair. Those sharp eyes were looking around with slightly squinty eyes as if expecting a war to fall from thin air on them.

“Dean. Sam. Where is this emergency?”

And damn if he didn’t sound a little peeved in his Cas angel way; all low voice guaranteeing a bitch out if someone wasn’t getting stabbed in the next three seconds.

“Do you have a way to locate an angel?” Sam asked as Dean shifted on his feet, kicking loose little bits of crumbly pavement with his boot. “Like something we could use when we don’t exactly have anything of said angel and this angel is really, really warded.”

“Like Fort Knox mated with the Swiss Bank type of lock down,” Dean said and saw his friend’s face wrinkle ever so slightly.

“Which of my brothers is in trouble? Perhaps I have a better way.” Cas was looking between them now, somehow more relaxed yet more tense.

Yeah, Dean didn’t see Cas being down with tracking the archangel he had called assbutt right before lighting her on fire in her then meat suit. The fact he had also lit Adam on fire he pushed away, trying to keep hold of the fact that baby bro was currently flouncing around heaven in all his snarky glory.

“We, uh, we don’t think we can tell you.”

Dean decided that the look of hurt that passed over the angel’s face was his imagination. Those eyes that were bluer than the whole damn sky studied them for what seemed like an eternity. Sam and his over grown man mass was noisily crinkling his chip bag like they needed some sort of musical interlude.

“I may have a way. I will contact you when I have what it requires.”

“Thanks, Cas,” and damn he can’t help the relief that maybe they might have some way of getting a lowdown on her. “Hey, one sec.”

A look from his brother but he was already opening the driver’s door, sliding into Baby with the door creak still sounding. Finding an old gas receipt and a non-dried up pen he scratched out the symbols she had left. Those little squiggly shapes that felt pressed into his mind like he had been born with them firmly in place.

“So what does that mass of whatever mean?” he said, handing over the slip as Cas had moved closer to see what he had. “We’re in need of an angel to human translator here.”

“Of course –“ something stopped in the angel, like a fine wire had snapped and Dean figured it was bad. Maybe it was an angelic suicide note and he figured if that was the case then Guck would be back any time to start the smiting.

“Cas?” Sam ventured since Dean couldn’t get himself to make a sound. There were these little sharp ticks in him, something fearful and ugly that was all him.

“Who are you looking for?” the angel asked again, bordering closer to a command this time.

“I – we –“ he sputtered as Sam was of no help, big eyes looking all mournful. Classic little brother ‘not my fault’ pose. “I mean I don’t think we’re supposed to spill.”

The words stumbled and scattered stupidly as those eyes were back on him, cold and trying to see into his mind. He was sure of it and his loose lips were about to sink his ship though to just know what that was. What she had told him because apparently English just wouldn’t do.

“It’s part of a very old song of heaven,” Cas finally offered, his low rumbling voice almost hesitant and that just wasn’t right. That wasn’t something he wanted from his friend who had gotten his mojo back. “Something I have not heard sung since Lucifer’s fall. Originally, it was directed at God.”

“Originally?” Sam was right there then, looking over at the paper all worried and geeky at the same time as Dean was starting to get it. He may be a little slow at times but she had been directing whatever that was to him instead of Daddy.

“It is hard to give a good translation into your language, it misses many of the nuances.”

“Just spit it out, Cas,” Dean got out. “I’m on pins and needles here.”

He tried for a shit eating grin and failed miserably, feeling like everything was being ripped apart by very fine fingers.

“Roughly, perhaps, it would be something close to ‘My essence sings only of you, you are my beginning and my end through which all else flows’.”

It was a sucker punch, that’s what it was when all the air just flew out of him. That stupid, stubborn, pain in the ass that she was had left one final little thing and he tried to hate her. Tried not to think of her trusting him to fix her, to watch her. How she always stayed close to him even when livid and screaming, pissed at everything in existence and trying to blame him.

That one haunting him, the one that sang in his dreams and pulled on a cord that was tied up between them, the one that dragged him along whether or not Sam followed.

He didn’t know whether to scream or laugh, only that he would have preferred a suicide note in some ways. Not that it would have better, just less of, well, this.

“I will call when I am ready,” Cas said and he jumped because he had totally forgotten he had an audience out here. All he got though were sounds of wing beats before Sammy came into view, crouching down to get his hulking frame more on eye level.

“We’ll find her,” his brother said, face locked in a stunned deer expression. “I know it.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay there Sam,” he got out his voice some kind of strange cracking sound to his ears as he shook his head at his brother. “Just, just get in the car.”

Sam didn’t press any further, just got up and came around to the passenger side as Dean shut his own door. Stupid archangel. Stupid angels in general, not letting him in on the big things, the crap that was her mind and just expecting him to know. That one night he had turned her down because she had been drinking and that apparently was enough proof for whatever passed for angelic mental space.

 _Michael, you stubborn jackass,_ he thought as he backed them out to go find someplace to stay as they waited on Cas.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The room was too small.

At least it was something he could focus on because it felt like they were in a box at eight o’clock at night waiting for bad news. It didn’t smell of mold and was clean, at least as clean as these places got but it didn’t help the caged up animal feeling. Nor did the wallpaper which was made up of alternating shades of blue strips. Even faded made him think of bars. In fact everything was overly blue, from the deep ocean that was the carpet to the powder blue of the comforters that swam against the few white spots of molding and lamps.

He made himself not think how bright she would look in a place like this in her red clothes and dark hair.

“Did, did you know?” His brother took a shallow breath, hands flexing. “I mean that it was like this?”

Sam was slouched on the end of one of the beds staring at their phones on the table as if trying to will them into sounding off. His fingers drummed on his leg with a lack of energy that Dean wished he had instead of the bubbling, consuming need to move. He made himself stop pacing, dragged a hand through his hair before shaking his head.

“Hell, Sammy, you know her. Half the time when she spoke it was insults.”

“She was hurting,” Sam snapped, as if defending her and somehow Dean felt smaller than he had in so long. “You two are so alike. I just thought…”

His brother’s voice trailed off, eyes unfocused on the wall and Dean couldn’t bring himself to say even now what had happened. The part he had screwed up without knowing because she was all pride and no words. Precious seconds that had changed everything and that strange mix of accusation and pity Sam kept giving him.

Everything that was in him vibrated and he wanted to break something.

“Dude,” Sam said, that weird tone that had always accompanied his ‘aha’ moments that Dean usually appreciated during a case and at no other time. “You bought her a dress.”

“I buy all her clothes. It’s not like it’s some weirdo thing here. I mean, I had to buy her a bra at the start and didn’t see you throwing rose petals.”

Sam smirked, something more relaxed even in his slouched state with his overly long hair all frizzy. “You saw a red dress, thought of her, brought it back and made sure it fit. It’s like her most prized possession.”

“She was bitching all the time about having to lay on her stomach and how moving hurt,” he said feeling lame even as he tried for the exact opposite. “Thought it would get her off my back, you know, make her shut up for a little bit.”

He was not thinking of her in that dress, the way she had looked at him as he had helped her into it that first time. That she may have worn it for someone else now.

“You bought her a dress hoping it would make her like you better?”

At least something in the universe took mercy on him as his phone went off just as Sam’s eyebrows were shooting up.

“Cas? Man, tell me it’s good news.”

“I have what is required. Where are you?”

“Uh, Day’s Motel just west from the rest area you last saw us. Room Twelve.”

A shifting sound of air disturbed and he was staring at his friend who always arrived way too close and he could hear Sam snort as he put away his phone. A bag hung from the angel’s left hand, loosely swaying in his fingers. Dean reached for it but his relief was shattered when Cas took a step back.

“Cas?” Now Sam was wary, like they were in some trap about to spring.

“You will tell me who we are looking for or I will not help you.” Something burned in those eyes that spoke of being trusted and damn, Dean felt worse because it wasn’t exactly that.

A look from Sam, he shifted but what choice did they have before she got herself kidnapped, or hurt or worse, Guck found her? The last thing he needed was God all angry and up in their shit.

“You have to promise not to tell, that you won’t hurt her,” Dean said as he felt the angel’s full focus on him. “Swear it Cas, that you won’t hurt her.”

“I have no want to hurt any of my brothers,” the angel intoned, his whole body so still it looked like someone had planted a wax sculpture in the middle of their room. “You have my word that no harm will come to her by my hand.”

“Michael,” Sam finally said, so soft it was almost lost but Cas heard. His head whipped around like Sam had spoken the secret of the whole freakin’ universe. “It’s Michael we’re trying to find.”

“My brother is free from hell? How?”

“You aren’t going to like it,” Dean started and seeing that face harden as Cas stepped right into his face again.

“I dislike many things, Dean.”

“Remember Chuck?”

“The prophet? Of course. He has been missing and presumed dead since the derailing of the apocalypse. What of him.”

“He uh –“, Dean couldn’t find a good way to get the insanity of the truth out. “He’s God, Cas.”

There was some strange complexity to his friend’s face – a pull of the corner of his mouth, an eye twitch and then Cas was sitting on the other bed like someone had attempted to cold cock him. Just out and out paralyzed him as everything sagged a little.

“I died beside my Father in His kitchen,” the angel finally said and Dean would have loved to point out they thought the whole thing was just that absurd. If the whole dying part hadn’t been included. “He brought Michael to you?”

“To Dean,” Sam of course jumped in to clarify, like it was so totally, solely his fault. “She’s mostly human, I guess. Whatever he did to her. And then she ran off and we haven’t been able to find her.”

“How long ago?”

“Seven weeks, about.”

“You lost Father’s first son,” Cas began, slowly looking between them, his face getting a furious stony sheen to it and not what Dean had hoped to see. “The Sword of Heaven who is powerless seven weeks ago and you did not call me immediately?”

“Can we maybe have the bitch session later, man?” Dean said, once again all figety under that glare. “Maybe find her first.”

“We will talk about this later,” the angel promised, getting up to put his bag on the table.

At least his friend had come prepared – bowls, some weird funky plants that smelled like death if the old coot had a smell and what he was fairly sure looked suspiciously like a feather. A large black feather that was close to translucent, as if it couldn’t decide firmly on existing or not. Sam made a face at him and he put it down, clearing his throat.

Those sorts of questions were probably inappropriate.

Cas unfolded a large dark cloth with intricate marking in white all over its surface, smoothing it across the table’s limited surface area before placing the bowl in the center. A candle was lit before the angel held out his hand towards him, no sign of patience.

“What?”

“Give me your hand,” the angel demanded, a knife suddenly appearing in the left.

“Uh, what are you planning here, Cas? Look, I know you’re pissed –“

“You are her lineage, her true vessel and obviously attached to her. It will greatly increase my ability to track her.”

“Oh,” he managed, handing over his left and trying not to wince at the draw of the cold blade against his palm. Or comment on the lack of healing after his blood was dripped into the bowl.

Why hadn’t they thought of this? Outside of him not realizing that he was _that_ important to something.

Dean held his breath as the angel recited some sort of incantation, some old gobbly language better off forgotten as a match was lit. It felt as though if he breathed everything would be ruined and she would be wiped out forever as Cas dropped it in the bowl. A lick of flame burst up then died back down, the ingredients already burnt to ash from the pressure of the spell.

“Montana.”

“How the hell –“ Dean cut himself off from the stormy look spreading across Sam’s face towards him. “Okay, whatever. That’s a big state, Cas. Got anything to go on besides that?”

“Western part,” Cas intoned, still staring into the bowl and Dean wondered what he was seeing as Sam started to bring up a map on his phone. “I believe by a large body of water but it is hard to get a true location.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam was saying, almost excited and Dean had a phone thrust into his hands. “Look, Flathead lake.”

There indeed was a large body of water in western Montana so at least they knew Cas just wasn’t getting high and hallucinating from sniffing too many ancient herbs. A small town on the shore caught his attention and he managed to bring it up.

“Polson, maybe,” he said showing Sam who nodded.

“Dean, we got to have a fast way to get there. It will take almost a day to drive that and she could be long gone all over again.”

Glancing towards the door he knew Baby was probably safe here for a few hours, hopefully. Maybe they’d come back to a neat surprise of a stupid demon having fallen into her trunk. Not that he wanted to go flying but Cas was staring at him now, to make a decision.

As if he would decide any other way.

“Let’s go collect her ass,” he said as a hand landed on his shoulder and the world swayed out.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“This shouldn’t be so damn hard,” he bitched, rubbing his head as it was just pass nine, well ten given the time zone they had started in and they were no closer to finding any lead of her. Stupid little tourist town, how hard could it be to find one measly person. Or angel. Whatever.

“Okay, well look, she may not be in Polson proper at any rate,” Sam said waving his phone like some messed up light stick in the gloomy parking lot of their most current failure.

“Or she may be here and just no one remembers her.”

“Dean, you’ve seen her. Everybody remembers her.”

He scuffed his boot on the pavement trying not to think about that. Not that it helped or kept back the nightmare images of her bleeding out somewhere, dying slowly thinking no one gave a damn.

“At any rate,” Sam was pushing on, showing the screen that glared up and assaulted his eyes even on low,” there’s a bed and breakfast joint a few miles up. Close to the lake. Several others too if that’s not right.”

Before he could even contemplate that there was a hand on him and they were back on angel airlines as he squeezed his eyes shut. At the rate they were going he wasn’t going to be able to poop for a year.

When he managed to get his body to back away from the idea of retching he got his eyes open and was fairly certain that this place was too upscale. Maybe they did bargain deals here or something but he didn’t know if she could afford this. It had been weeks and even with the few grand she had taken she still had to buy all her supplies. Maybe hustling had been kind to her, or at least hadn’t mostly ended with drunken brawls.

They had to check and he walked towards the front. Or what appeared to be the front door as Sam and Cas loitered around in the small parking lot. He glanced back and yep, they all looked like either a creepy cult or a group of serial murderers. Awesome.

Of course, being what this place was the door was locked, the big glass windows looking in on a rather large sitting area with high ceilings and a stone fireplace that took up one whole wall by itself. Everything far more comfortable than he was accustomed to as he rang the bell, a series of musical chimes. Fumbling with his phone he wondered what was so wrong with a good old fashioned doorbell ring before a muffled sound of movement.

“Yes?” A man, tall and scrawny with greying hair stared back at him through the glass door as Dean held his phone up.

“Have you seen her? It’s important. She’s disappeared and I want to know she’s not in trouble.”

There was a squint, a tell that this guy in his dorky sweater vest had indeed seen her but wasn’t ready to fess up to it. Something like hope punched right through him as the man looked him up and down.

“I don’t know. I can check with our guests as it’s not too late. Do you have a name?”

“Dean. Dean Winchester.”

He was alone at the door, probably being watched by a camera he couldn’t see in the darkness since most of these places had those as he stared at the photo on his phone. It was the only one he had of her, taken back when they had worked a case and stopped by the beach a little more than a month after the Lamia. The first time Michael had been out in her now favorite red dress wearing a simultaneous smile and scowl. She was on a deck actually holding an ice cream cone; lines of melting goo across her fingers as the ocean shone like ice behind her in the winter sun.

“Why?”

She was there in slacks and crimson blouse, hair loose as she stared at him through the door. Her expression inscrutable and even if he had hundred years he doubted he would ever know what she was thinking in those seconds.

“We were worried.”

“You mean Sam was worried.”

“Would you stop?” he hissed, becoming aware she may not have heard that but she stiffened at least getting the gist of it. He got his tone a little less pissed. “All of us are worried.”

“All?”

“Yeah, um, Cas is here. They’re pretending to be vagrants out in the lot.”

“Ah,” and there was a sorrow in her eyes, something stricken and old. “You told little Castiel. Has he come to mock me or exact revenge?”

“Dude, just no!” Her face tightened and he forced back the feeling of wanting to punch something. “Please, will you just talk to me. Or us. Just for a little bit. This door thing isn’t helping.”

Because it really wasn’t.

She tilted her head and then turned, nodding to someone that was standing out of his line of sight. Probably Norman Bates who had gone off to find her. Then she pushed the door open and he quickly side stepped, catching that she said she had her key as she let it click behind her.

“Say what you want to say.”

And the words just died in him. Just curled up and withered away to nothing as her face was up, blank and offering nothing of what her final note had left behind. All these weeks of looking for her and he was failing a foot from home, the last crucial seconds before she turned around and locked him out forever. So many things, all the anger and resentment and the way was just so infuriatingly Michael and that he hadn’t known.

How was he supposed to know what they were supposed to be doing if she didn’t tell him?

Instead, because his mouth wouldn’t move he just pulled her to him and everything went out of her as she pushed her face against his shoulder. It was the calmest he had ever felt her, fingers all wound into the back of his shirt and he still didn’t know where to start.

“You were still really loaded,” he tried, feeling her stiffen and he managed to keep her from wiggling away just yet. “That’s why. The whole maybe not consensual all the way thingie.”

There were many moments in his life where he felt supremely stupid but this one was closest to the top.

“You don’t have to come with us, with me,” he continued as they stood on display on this porch, her hair falling through his fingers like silk. “I just need to know where you are.”

“And if I come with you?” her voice muffled as she had yet to raise her head.

“I don’t – I’m not a mind reader. I can’t promise we can work shit out but it helps to know what you want.”

She was pulling away and he relaxed his arms, her head tipped down so he couldn’t see her face and once again he was full of unhelpful info that that had been the wrong thing to say. Words of indignation were gone though when he saw her pose, something like defeat, like she had already broken.

“You do not understand,” she said, her voice so soft the words where hard to hear above the chatty crickets.

“Tell me,” and he couldn’t help the hostility. “What, you want to be close, wear me, have sexy fun times, eat me in the non-fun way? What the hell is it that you want?”

“To be inside you.”

Dean let out a breath, running a hand over his hair trying to get his bearings because that was an angel thing. Not something he wanted to dwell on with this particular angel. He managed a cocky grin looking at her still bowed head. “Gotta say that’s a hard thing with our current status here, Mikey.”

“I want to be curled around your soul,” she soldiered on, seeming to ignore him desperately wanting to ignore all of this. “I want to be united with your very essence as one and dwell against it forever.”

“I can’t.”

Those words, those sudden words where just there and he couldn’t get them back, couldn’t stop them from dropping away because it was the truth. A nod, her turning back towards the door and he was mentally kicking himself that after all of this she was just going to leave all over again. Be gone forever and screw everything that wasn’t right.

“I mean, Jesus Mike, you’re going to give me tits talking about this shit,” he said, trying to form words that wouldn’t sink this more.

“You would be more comfortable with extra padding,” she supplied helpfully, the smirk clearly heard even if he couldn’t really see her face.

“Of course you learn snark out of the gate. Look,” he wiped a hand down his face trying to focus. “I can’t give you that, I can’t promise something like that. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want you around even if you are a highly frustrating, angry, violent, uh, creature.”

“I feel well cared for.”

“Mikey,” he said quietly and she finally looked up at him, those eyes so clear and full of something that he saw in mirrors ever day staring back out of him. That grief he didn’t unlock because he had to be functional to get Sam going and save people. He had to be at some kind of satisfactory operational level or there wasn’t a today.

“You do not owe me, Dean,” she said gently, a small sad smile there now.

“I know that’s not – Christ, you make this hard.”

“I cannot read minds right now to save you from your inherent awkwardness.”

“And so, so frustrating,” he mumbled feeling a flush as she smiled something edging away from despondent. “I can’t flip a switch and say okay, it’s all good or just, shit you know what? You’ve got little human primates and a brother here that care about you and if you want even a measure of what you preach that would be enough for right now.”

And then she was just there all up in space, staring at him before somehow shouldering in closer and he just let it happen because he wanted. That strange driving force that had pushed him in his search for her, that need to have her here that stubbornly refused to back off as she rocked onto the balls of her feet and kissed him.

It was so tentative, almost innocent and he had a moment to wonder if this was a first for her before he felt her flood through him, that angel all wrapped in flesh and chains. For one brief moment he felt her fire flood his veins, his lungs, everything so close to saying yes even if it wasn’t asked. That if she had done this before there wouldn’t be a world because there would have been no other answer.

Damn, he was like some lovelorn teenager out here all weak in the knees from something so stupid.

“That is acceptable,” she whispered, her voice a little broken note like she too was surprised it had felt that way, head on his shoulder. Somehow she held on harder, tighter before he felt a nod, a small sound he thought might be ‘okay’ before she pulled back looking at him. “I would like to collect my things.”

“Sure, yeah,” he said bouncing on his feet because he was elated and terrified she was about to go climb out a window. A slight smile pulled at her mouth as she slipped out of his arms and produced a key.

“Just a moment.”

She was gone from his view as the door clicked shut while he fought the urge to hold it open. Follow her up and make sure she came back. That wasn’t how it worked and he knew it. He could no more force her to do something now then when she had been an archangel, all brilliant and glorious and he glanced out at the lot. Cas and Sam had moved up a bit and appeared to be in the process of not watching while diligently staring his way.

He sighed and rolled his shoulders.

Five minutes, going on ten and he worried when she was just there, pushing the door open and saying something to, he guessed the owner. Tentatively, bag in her left, she went to his side looking up at him.

“So how the hell did you end up at this place?”

“Vampire nest in Bigfork and then I came here to be by the lake.”

“Have a fetish for lakes?”

“I remember when it was being carved,” her voice carried softly as he swore he could see Sam smiling in the night that was barely held back by one dedicated security light.

He wanted to tell her that something like her, no matter her crimes or what she was now didn’t belong with him. With what he had done, the things that still marked him as barely good as her hand slide around his upper arm. The heat of her palm against him and he couldn’t look over.

“One day, I want to be able to show you everything,” she said, her voice still low as they started walking since he needed movement, damn it. “Especially since I believe your idea of exceptional is a 'men drink free' night.”

“Sweet talker,” he muttered, thankful for the night that hid the heat flash in his face. Not like he needed more for Sammy to rail on about as blackmail fodder as they drew into the parking lot and the two amigos where standing there antsy and way too nosy.

 “Sam. Castiel,” she greeted before looking fully at her little brother. “Take us home.”


End file.
